


The Unofficial Gay Sequel to Resident Evil

by FanficFriday



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil 5 - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficFriday/pseuds/FanficFriday
Summary: FanFic Friday is an event every week where I read aloud old fanfiction I wrote on my youtube channel, and talk about it, and how horrible and hilarious it is.  It's a loving roast of myself and the fanworks that led to my creative growth as a writer, but uh... aren't quite up to snuff.This story: Chris is despondent after Wesker's death in RE5, until he realizes his rival might still be around somewhere... A poorly written romance between two people who probably should be stabbing each other with knives rather than making out, but hey - I was a horny teen. So, they make out.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	The Unofficial Gay Sequel to Resident Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to the youtube video reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNvl-Shkc5I&list=PLtFKKJBtHlSNNlokm3Uzu07zkdencAMa6
> 
> This has - so many problems. I wrote it in high school as a young gay horny teen, it barely has a plot and is mostly an excuse to make two attractive men kiss.

> THE VERY UNOFFICIAL SEQUEL TO RESIDENT EVIL 5
> 
> ~a high schooler's idea of romance~ 

Chris disliked playing as C. Viper in _Street Fighter 4_. She wasn't an easy character to use or master, but for some vindictive reason, Chris insisted on always using her.

"Fucking dick," The man griped as he watched the CPU, playing as Rufus, send his red headed mullet-braid-pompadour haired woman across the screen. _Why do I always pick her anyway_?

Video games seemed to be what comprised most of Chris's time currently. He hadn't had any jobs in a while, as he was on a sort of unofficial break; and he didn't have the need or the desire to leave his house. Playing _Street Fighter_ was a nice distraction.

But the distraction was part of the problem; Chris frowned as the last of Viper's health was depleted and she let out a baleful shriek. His heart just wasn't in it, or anything else for that matter. That was why he kept losing.

Sighing, Chris shut the game off and brushed a hand through his hair. Recently he'd been off his game - distant, quiet. All his friends had noticed, which was probably why he wasn't getting any work. They didn't want him going off and getting himself killed while he was "depressed".

Which he wasn't. Chris would admit he wasn't himself. But he wasn't moping, he was just bothered, weighed down by heavy thoughts. And who could blame him? He'd just put an end to a ten year vengeance trip against a man he'd hated with his entire being. He'd watched Wesker die in a volcano months before, left Africa, and gone home. Only now, he couldn't stop thinking about it all - every decision he'd made in those ten years, he had analyzed and scrutinized. From that, he'd come to some startling conclusions, which had thrown him into a bit of a funk.

Chris let out a second sigh before helping himself off the couch. The case of _Street Fighter_ caught his eye and he wondered if Viper wasn't his favorite because of her sunglasses. Shoving that thought aside, Chris stood and moved to the kitchen.

There was a litany of messages on the answering machine; he pushed the play button and moved to the fridge, hardly listening to the messages.

Truthfully he didn't feel like talking to his friend, not with all these thoughts in his head. It might be to talk about all these things he'd realized about himself, about Wesker... but his choices were limited.

Jill was a no-no. Even mentioning Wesker around her sent the woman into a tyrannical fury like no other. Not that Chris blamed him, but that was not conducive to healthy conversation. Bad idea.

Sheva, on the other hand, was a good candidate. She didn't have the awful history with Wesker that Jill and he did. But she was all the way in Africa, and that wasn't a talk he wanted to have over the phone.

Who did that leave?

"... -click- _Hey man, Leon here. Since everybody and thier brother is calling to check on you, I figured I'd join the parade. But I know you'l get off your ass eventually. Till then I get to take on all those nasty fucking missions that would've been yours. Thaaanks, br_ o!" The sarcasm had Chris chuckling, which was more joy than he'd shown in a while. "Talk later. Ciao."

Grinning ear to ear, Chris turned towards his phone, having found his answer.

* * *

"Long time no see."

Leon was smirking as he sat down, like the arrogant bastard he was, and it put a light heartedness into Chris's words that hadn't been there in a while. He grinned at the youth.

"Whatcha been up to brat?"

"Cleaning up your messes. Bastard. If you were gonna take a leave of absence, you shoulda told me. We could have coordinated."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? And spend our vacation at the beach, tanning and reading dirty novels together?"

The smirk became a smile as Leon winked. "You read my mind." The man was ridiculous, but it put Chris at ease.

"Well, sorry Leon. Seriously." Sheepish, Chris glanced away. "Didn't mean to drop extra work on you."

The two were seated outside a coffee shop, in the middle of the day, and looked exceptionally odd: two strapping, buff young men in the dark colors, drinking cappachinos together at a small lunch table. The table seemed even smaller when dwarfed by the muscle bound men, Chris especially. They both seemed oblivious to all the odd stares they were getting.

Leon settled a heavy, concerned stare on Chris's face, his chin resting on his entwined fingers. "So, what's up?" He questioned lightly. "Why the sudden break?"

Chris looked firmly away from his friend, seemingly determined to stare a hole into the ground. Last night, talking to someone had seemed like a good idea. Now, Chris couldn't seem to articulate what had been stewing in his brain for some time. Leon could read it on his face, awaiting patiently for Chris to gather his thoughts.

"Well, uh," He huffed, hand behind his head. "It's like this." As he spoke, he gestured constantly with his hands, a habit that occurred whenever Chris was very involved in whatever he was saying. "Ever since the start of all this, y'know, all the zombies and fighting, stopping Wesker and shit ,I've been really, well..." He stopped and searched for a word.

"Single minded." Leon offered from behind his hands.

"Yeah," The taller man nodded. "Driven, y'know? So determined to stop Wesker and all these crazy outbreaks I never really stopped to think." Hands dropping to his lap, Chris looked away. "Now that it's over... now that he's gone, it's like ten years of thinking has hit me all at once." One hand came up to his unkempt hair, as if looking for something to grip. "And, well... there's a lot I've been ignoring all this time."

Chris paused and glanced at Leon, as if waiting for input or a response. The younger remained still, impassive, so Chris decided to continue. He was on a roll; why stop now?

"Anyway... I think anger and, um... and hate clouded my head a lot, all this time. When Wesker died, it started fading away, and now all these things my brain couldn't comprehend before are coming to me, and they seem more clear now. Like... it was kinda obvious Wesker wasn't being totally truthful in STARS," That actually took a lot for him to admit, but not as much as his next statement. "But I think I had such starry eyed respect for him that I ignored the signs. And when he betrayed us... I should've handled it better. It was like part of me had known, but I ignored that part so I could be angry and indignant." Clenching his fists, Chris gave a short sigh. "I didn't want it to be true despite the fact I'd had a bad feeling all along."

Leon still hadn't moved, eyes fixed on Chris and it was actually kind of creepy. Bothered, the brunet waved a hand in front of Leon's face, but the man frowned and batted it away.

"What? You looked stoned or something." Chris shrugged at Leon's indignation, as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I'm listening. Or would you rather I dose off the way you do when a conversation lasts longer than a minute?"

Pretending to give a soft snore, Chris suddenly snapped his head up. "Sorry, you were saying?" A raised eyebrow and haughty smirk were his only reply. Laughing Chris kept going.

"Anyway... I've been concentrating on him a lot. Wesker, I mean." The look on Leon's face said the 'him' was obvious. "Why I hated him so much, why I chased him constantly. I always said it was cause he betrayed STARS and he was doing all these horrible things, but I know now that's not entirely true." Eyes dropped, sagging heavily. "I was lying to myself, just like Wesker always said I was."

There was a prolonged pause, thick with the weight of guilt and recognition, during which Chris remained broodingly quiet, while Leon waited for him to continue. When he didn't, Leon batted Chris's leg with his foot.

"Stop moping. You were actually starting to sound intelligent at the end there."

Chris rolled his eyes, and continued. "What I'm getting around to is: I think there was actually some truth to some of the stuff Wesker was saying. Yeah, he was cold and a heartless bastard, but he wasn't totally wrong... about some things."

Admitting that was like lifting a 2 ton weight off his back, and Chris sighed at the relief. He still was tense with worry of what Leon might say.

There was no accusation in his eyes - no, there was a twinkle that more resembled mirth than anger. When finally Leon opened his mouth to reply to Chris's long monologue, Chris had a hunch the reply wouldn't be pleasing to him.

"Chris," He began by leaning forward. _Here it comes._ Chris reluctantly awaited the sharp comeback. _Why do I have a feeling he's gonna make a joke outta this?_

"Are you gay?"

... Wait, WHAT? Chris stared. His eyes grew wider and wider as his mouth dropped open.

"Whaaat!?"

Chortles of laughter and tears burst from Leon simultaneously, as he clutched his gut and doubled over in hilarity. Chris tried to keep the color on his face down as he stared dumbly at his friend.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything!?"

Chris had to wait a minute for an answer, since Leon's chuckles refused to die down. He was gasping for air when he did speak. "Y - Your face!!" More laughter. Chris was starting to grow a bit upset, embarrassment turning to anger. 

"Leon, I just told you shit that's been bothering me for weeks, and your making fun of me?" 

That calmed him down; still a bit red faced, Leon shook his head. "I'm not. It has everything to do with it, honest." 

It was Chris's turn to look indignant, eyebrow up and arms crossed. "Do tell." The embarrassment hadn't quite faded yet.

Looking pleased with himself, Leon began his explanation. "Your sexuality would make sense of everything. A young man, confused about who he is and what he wants, becomes attached to his intelligent, capable, handsome boss; and in this vulnerable time of his young life, is betrayed by said man. Hurt, confused, and lost for direction, he covers these "weak, unmanly" emotions with anger, and hides his affection for his ex-boss with hate, swearing vengeance for his traitorous actions."

"You're making it sound like I'm in love with Wesker." Chris interrupted dryly.

Leon ignored him. "After years of battle, he finally has his revenge, only to realize that the emotions he'd founded his crusade upon were facades to cover the truth. Faced with these truths, he is forced to question his choices and his lingering feelings for the friend-turned-enemy who he, regrettably, had no choice but to take down."

The "hypothetical" explanation hung in the air above them like a rain cloud, dulling the brightness that had been on Chris's face earlier. Now, the elder appeared morose and brooding again, stumped in his chair with lidded eyes.

"So, what comes next?" Chris finally muttered. "What does he do now?"

Leon, no longer laughing or mirthful, leaned forward on his elbows. "Somehow he comes to terms with the decisions he made; he realizes he made the best he could of a painful situation, saved a lot of lives, and came out of it alive." The youth smiled supportively. "He has to move on eventually."

Chris met his eyes briefly before glancing away. Heavy sigh, uncomfortable shifting in his seat. He didn't seem as worried as earlier, but now he was darker, tinged with a somber mood. Leon decided to make an attempt to lighten it.

"Y'know, you never did deny that you were ga-"

"Shut up!"

* * *

Since he wasn’t at home at the time, Chris missed his phone ringing. It wasn’t strange for him to ignore the phone and only listen to the messages - but this message was a bit different from the others.

“Chris,” It was Jill. “We need to talk, urgently. I’m coming to your place as soon as I can.” A pause. “It’s really important Christopher. Please hear me out.”

Click.

* * *

When Chris arrived at his apartment, he was in such a gloomy mood, he didn’t notice the familiar figure sitting on the couch.

“Chris,” The man jumped and spun about, shocked to see Jill with her legs crossed on his sofa. “We need to talk.”

The two remained stationary. “How’d you get in my house?”

The girl smirked and stood. “Ever heard of locking your door?”

His gaze flashed to said door. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t needed his keys to get in. _Whoops. I really must be out of it._

Sighing, Chris dropped his surprised stance and approached her. “Sorry, Jill, I haven’t been in the right state of mind recently.”

His friend’s searching gaze roamed over him, and Chris vaguely wondered if she could somehow learn of his strange thoughts with her eyes. Ridiculous, now you’re really getting paranoid.

“So what’s up?” Trying to be upbeat, Chris smiled. “I’m guessing you had something you wanted to talk about. Or maybe you just came to hang?”

Jill shook her head. “You were right the first time. I... something’s come up.”

Chris’s eyes narrowed. Ever since Jill had been rescued, she’d been different. Who wouldn’t be after what she’d been through? Chris could hardly blame her but he often found he missed how close they used to be. This new Jill was distant, colder, withdrawn.

“Okay. What’s wrong?”

Now Chris knew something was bad; Jill looked nervous. Not afraid, just jittery, which was rare for her. The man lifted a hand to her shoulder.

“You okay?”

She met his eyes and in them he saw anger, nerves, and concern.

“I think Wesker’s still alive.”

Chris’s heart stopped abruptly and his train of thought screeched to an alarming halt. Now he was beginning to worry for himself - not only was he become an antisocial recluse, he was going insane and losing his hearing. _I did not just hear that, I’m imagining things -_

“You _what_?”

“Ever since he... controlled me, I could always sense where he was, his presence. After the volcano, it disappeared, but now...” The woman clenched her fists. “It’s back.”

Dread filled his veins like ice. “You’re sure? Absolutely positve?”

She frowned. “You don’t have to sound so excited.”

Wait, what? “I - I’m not excited, Jill, I’m concerned!” He retorted as the woman walked away. “This is Wesker we’re talking about! If he’s still alive and kicking, we’ve got a serious problem!”

“Right.” She spun back around, sighing. “Look, I told you first as a courtesy. You saved me, and as much as I loathe Wesker, I know he’s - well, he’s something to you.”

It took a moment of dumb staring and confusion for Chris to think of a reply. “What is it that everybody thinks me and Wesker had some sort of star crossed love affair!?”

Jill shrugged. “You were both very heated with one another -”

“With hate! Heated with hate!”

“- and you were always different towards him; no one was angrier than you at his betrayal, and no one chased him so fervently.”

Chris, inwardly, begrudgingly admitted that was true, but he didn’t voice it aloud. “Look, that’s not our concern right now. If Wesker’s alive, shit’s sure to hit the fan.”

But Jill was shaking her head. “Not... quite. I’m not positive, but I think he’s very weak right now. I can’t sense any of his former power, and he hasn’t been moving around much. I think he’s probably still recovering from your last battle.” Jill’s knowing eyes met his, and shame made Chris lower his gaze. What he was ashamed of, he wasn’t sure.

The two stood quietly, separated by a short distance that felt infinitely larger than it was. Divided by two years in which both suffered dark trauma: after all that time, it was hard to tell if they knew each other anymore.

“Chris, I don’t know what you’ll do with this information. I’m not going to ask.” She started for the door. “But I felt you should know. I’ve only told you.” Pausing in the door frame, Jill turned to look at him. “Another thing.”

Shaken from his stunned state, Chris glanced up and cleared his throat. “Y - Yeah?”

She smiled. “If ever you were going to and make up for the ten years, it would be now. While Wesker can’t run from you.” With a wink, she waved and disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

_Well. That was a strange day._

Chris fell back onto his bed with a thump - he hadn’t needed to pull the covers down, it was already unmade. Hands behind his head, knees propped up, Chris realized he hadn’t made his bed in a while. Not unusual for most bachelors, but he tried to keep his place clean. Guilt prodded his gut when he realized he’d really fallen behind on... well, everything.

Not talking to friends, not working, not going out, not taking care of his place, hell, had he even paid the bills anytime recently? The truth was Chris didn’t know and that was kinda scary. He was letting his life fall apart because of what? Having big thoughts? That was fodder Wesker would’ve had a hell of a time with.

_Finally started using your head Chris? Too bad it seems the expenditure is draining the rest of your miserable life..._

Huffing, Chris turned onto his side, towards the window, away from the glaring light of his clock. He knew it was way too late in the night to be awake - but once again, his thoughts were disrupting everything, sleep included.

He had to do something about this - confront it somehow. Deal with the realizations he’d come to in a concrete, real way. 

_And how better to do that_ , the man thought with a smirk, _than face the source?_

He owed Jill a very, very big favor.

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Chris was not at home the next day.

Early in the morning he awoke, had a cup of black coffee, before dressing in dark green, baggy cargo pants, black boots, and a tee shirt. It wasn’t what he would usually wear on a “mission”, but that was the point. He also made sure not to bring any weapons, but for a machete, just in case. This time he didn’t want to run in guns blazing.

Dressed, Chris left a note on his counter in case anyone came by, grabbed his phone and his keys; then doubled back and grabbed a CD off his shelf for the drive. Remembering to lock his apartment this time, Chris exited his abode, and prepared for what was probably the stupidest adventure he’d ever set out on.

 _I must be suicidal_ , the man thought as he got into his jeep, popping in the CD. _Surely no one in the history of the world has done something this irrevocably stupid. I don’t even know where I’m going!_

Next step: pick up his phone, dial a number, wait for Jill to answer as Chris started backing out of his parking place.

“ _Hello_?”

“Where am I going?” Chris put the question out immediately, being in a bit of a hurry. He backed out fast, ignored the alarmed, repetitious shrills of the horn of the Mazda behind him. It would move. 

“ _Chris, what are you talking about_?”

“You said you sensed Wesker,” It did in fact move, and very quickly too. Soon enough Chris was out of the spot and on his way, driving towards the street as he tried to determine his destination. “Where is he?”

A sigh. “ _I knew you were going to go after him eventually, but are you really so gung ho you’re just gonna leap out of bed the next morning and chase him down, with no idea of where he is or what he’s doing_?”

That Buick in the left lane had no idea how to drive. It was hardly Chris’s fault he had to cut in front of the slow bastard. More bellowing horns that Chris ignored.

“What did you think I would do? This shit’s being driving me crazy for months, and now I have a chance to settle things with the guy. I’m not giving this up.”

“ _I thought you already ‘settled things’ in the volcano_!”

“Yeah, well, sort of. But then other things came up and they’re still bothering me.” Chris was driving without direction or purpose, waiting for Jill to point the way. “Are you gonna tell me or do I have to keep driving until I find him?”

Another heavy sigh. “ _All right, fine. But will you promise to wait to go after him until I can get there_?”

“Ahhhhhmmm no.”

“ _Chris_!”

Laughing a little, Chris pulled over into a neighborhood and parked on the side of the road to finish the phone call. “Sorry Jill, but this is urgent. I have to handle this now. I know you’re worried but I’ve got this. The sooner you tell me where he is the sooner I can put this all behind me.”

The line was quiet for about a minute, but Chris could wait. He knew, sooner or later, Jill’s confidence in Chris’s determination would make her give in. That, or he would annoy the hell out of her until she did.

“ _Fine. I don’t like it, but I trust you. Where are you_?”

Smiling, Chris explained his location, and Jill set on telling him where to go from there. He pulled back out into the road, taking a right.

“ _He’s about an hour away from you, in the mountains. He never goes far from the same few miles_.”

For a good fifteen minutes they passed the time talking, as Jill explained where to go and Chris followed her instructions. In between, they talked and exchanged witty remarks, as if the past two years of separation never happened. Chris was shocked Jill wasn’t blowing up about the Wesker situation, all in arms to go get him; when he mentioned it, she laughed and said the same about him. A warmth spread in Chris at how easy going they were.

_Maybe we’ll still be okay, after all this._

“ _Chris. Chris_!”

“Huh, sorry, what was it?”

“ _Chris, he’s moving_!”

“What?”

“ _Wesker, he’s moving outside his usual zone, and very fast. He must be in a car or something... I’m losing him_!”

_Shit on a sandwich._

“Where is he right now!?”

“ _He’s approaching that summer camp at the base of the mountains, I don’t know the name_ -”

“Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.” Chris put his foot down hard on the gas, wheels squealing against the pavement. He had to get to the Food Lion at the intersection, take a left for the interstate, past the Red Roof Inn... Weaving past a Sudan on his right, Chris went faster and faster, color flying to his face.

“ _Chris? Chris, are you doing what I think you’re doing? Christopher_!”

“Not supposed to talk on the phone and drive, Jill,” Chris smirked at Jill’s enraged shout.

“ _Christopher! If you get arrested I’m leaving your ass in jail_!”

Ignoring that, Chris went even faster, pushing past the 70 mark. He zoomed through an intersection, figuring yellow lights were just suggestions anyway. There was a Honda blaring its horn at him, but it sure as hell got out of the way when Chris swerved around it.

“ _Christopher! You can’t face Wesker if you die in an accident_!”

“Hey, are you insulting my driving skills?” More horns blaring all around, but he hadn’t done more than scrape a car or two. And knock a mirror off. Or three.

“ _You stupid, arrogant -_ ”

Now that blaring horn was a police siren. Damn. He’d hoped he’d at least get past the mall without catching attention from the blues. Frowning, Chris glanced at his mirror to see the flashing lights, then put the pedal to the metal.

_Screw the consequences, this is important._

“Sorry, Jill, I’m gonna have to hang up.”

“ _CHRISTO-”_ Click.

* * *

A trip that should have taken about an hour took Chris twenty heart racing minutes; by the time he was on the mountain roads, he had a fan following of twelve police cars, lined up like ducklings on the small backwater trail, lights still blaring. It was giving Chris a headache.

“How the hell am I gonna throw you bastards?” He knew of zombies he’d had an easier time losing than these suckers. _Hell, I’d rather face a chainsaw guy right now._ At least he could kill them. _Too bad I didn’t bring my grenade launcher._

Still, he was getting close to the camp, so Wesker had to be around -

_Shit._

Chris’s heart stopped in his chest, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Coming into this situation, Chris had known it would be dangerous. Dangerous for him. But now, coming towards Wesker with twelve police cars, who knows how many (probably) innocent officers, who Chris knew Wesker would have no problem killing.

_I don’t care if he hurts me, but I can’t let others get involved._

Okay; the situation was now more complicated, but he could handle it. This was just a speed bump. Why he hadn’t thought of it before, he wasn’t sure. _Maybe I am stupid._ Huffing, the man glanced around for an answer. This was going to take some improv. 

Then it came to him - a fork in the road, and to the left was an old bridge that led to the camp. Chris knew because he’d volunteered there once - it wasn’t the sturdiest bridge, but he figured his Jeep could make it. If not, well, if Jill could survive a drop off a cliff, maybe he could too.

Hard turn left, and he sped towards the bridge, hurtling past trees and wildlife and terrified, fluffy woodland creatures. There it was; he could see the bridge in the distance. _Hope I’m lucky today... How pathetic would it be to survive zombie attacks and all else, only to die from driving off a cliff?_

Chris took in a deep breath. He clutched the wheel, felt his legs tense, then let out the air. With one more strong push on the pedal, he zoomed towards his salvation - or his death. His heart hammered fast as he whispered his prayer like mantra, over and over.

“It always works in movies, it always works in movies, it always works in -”

It did not work.

As soon as the front wheels crossed over onto the bridge, the ropes started to snap, the wood creaking and cracking, until it broke completely. The Jeep started to tumble, front first, off what Chris had thought was a tall cliff. It was a five foot drop.

The car shook violently when it hit bottom, and every bone in Chris’s bone jittered and banged together like the worst fall down the stairs in history. He was fine, or at least looked it. The car seemed fine too.

But he was stuck in a five foot ditch, surrounded by police cars.

“Step out of the vehicle! You are under arrest!”

Eyes lidded, Chris growled angrily, head falling hard against the steering wheel. His Jeep’s horn went off, a long hard BMMAAAAAAAAAA - The fact he was about to be arrested and in deep legal shit was not, actually, what was bothering him.

He’d lost Wesker, and that pissed him off most of all.

* * *

He did not get out of the vehicle, and the police didn’t come down to him. Chris figured they were filling out paperwork, laughing at him, and eating donuts while celebrating his misery. 

Growling, Chris thought about his options. His car was stuck. He wouldn’t get far without it, and more than likely, Wesker was already long gone. His only choice was to go with the law - more than likely once they knew who he was and contacted his job, his superiors would come up with some kind of believable cover story, like he was on his way to rescue kittens from a burning building or something. Smack on the hand, community service, and then he’d be back to moping in his apartment.

 _Can’t believe I blew this chance!_ Slamming his fists against the dash, Chris growled again. _Not to mention screwing up my paint job._ Well, it was a Jeep. They were meant to be down and dirty.

So Chris remained in his car, brooding and scowling, while unbeknownst to him, another car approached the line of police vehicles. It was not a car belonging to any government group or agency - quite the opposite. A smooth black BMW, looking totally out of place in the woods, pulled up beside the blockade. 

The chauffeur removed himself from the car, moving towards the nearest officer. “Excuse me, sir,”

The officer, a tall black man named Wheeler, turned towards the man. “How can I help you?”

The young chauffeur glanced past him to the bridge. “My employer lives near here, in the mountains. He wanted to know if something had happened here - something he might need to be concerned about?”

Wheeler chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. Just some idiot with road rage, driving himself into a ditch.” The sound of a car door slamming shut had both lifting their heads.

A tall man stood by the car - one hand on a cane, the other gripping his black cloak. A hood covered his head. In fact, he was covered head to toe in black cloth of some kind. The man moved slowly, leaning heavily on the cane for support. Immediately the chauffeur approached him.

“Sir, you shouldn’t be up and -”

The young man was ignored, in favor of the policeman. “The identity of the driver.” It sounded less like a question and more like a statement, putting the officer off a bit. But he tried to answer it.

“Well, uh, we don’t know at the moment. He’s still in the vehicle, and no one has gone down to him.” As soon as ‘we don’t know’ came out, the injured man was on the move again, slowly moving himself towards the ditch. His chauffeur did not try to stop him, but remained constantly on his heel.

The strange man with the cane stood at the top of the “cliff”, glaring down from under his hood with the intensity and fire of a predatory cat. Only a whisper, hardly audible, came from his dry lips.

“Christopher,”

Chris felt a brush of wind against his neck. Hesitantly, he lifted his head, brow furrowed. Had he just heard his name? Confused, he shook his head. Maybe he had injured himself in the crash. Perhaps he had a concussion. Once again growling, Chris was fed up with the situation, angrily kicking at his door until it opened. Then he stepped out.

Three guns were aimed at him as soon as his feet touched the earth; he raised his hands obligingly as the leader of the donut patrol stepped forward. Chris made a point to scowl at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that Leon had been a cop once. _Explains why he’s such an asshole_.

The head cop, Wheeler, put his hands on his belt and glared. “Your name, young man?”

Chris almost smirked - almost. But he was playing the part of repentant good guy. “Chris Redfield, sir.”

* * *

Needless to say the whole mess was cleaned up in no time. Much too famous for his liking, and revered for things Chris still wasn’t sure were right, he hated his fame. But, in cases like this, it came in handy. One phone call to his workplace, and a cover story was in place, and the cops had gone from glaring at him to patting him on the back. Chris didn’t even know what story had been given, and he didn’t care. Still peeved about losing Wesker, he remained in a dark funk the whole time.

Perhaps that was why he did not notice the strange figure in all black with the cane. The man stared at Chris constantly, until returning with his chauffeur to the BMW. Both of them left without Chris noticing.

* * *

“ _You are a fucking idiot_.”

“Hey, it would’ve worked if the bridge held out.” Chris retorted dryly. “Or if I had tried going right, up the mountain. I almost had him Jill! He slipped out of my fingers!” Something Wesker was very good at doing, even when he didn’t know he was doing it, apparently.

“ _Yes, I know, but it’s not the end of the world. I’m sure if he’s still around_ -”

“If,” Chris spat pointedly.

“ _If he’s still around, I’ll sense him again at some point. Until then, try not to do anything dangerous or illegal, okay_?” There was a dark edge to her voice that made Chris calm down a bit. He gave a heavy sigh, hand falling over his eyes.

“Yeah... sorry Jill. Just... I saw a chance and I took it. Didn’t mean to make you worry. If it makes you feel any better, my car’s a wreck.” The man turned to glance over his shoulder, where two large cranes were at work pulling his poor vehicle out of the rut it was trapped in. “It’s not totaled, but it’s definitely shook up.”

The woman on the line sighed. “ _Want me to come get you_?”

He shook his head, realized he was on the phone, and voiced it. “No. I’m not leaving these mountains until I find Wesker.”

“ _What did I just say about doing dangerous things? Not to mention stupid_!”

“I’ve been in worse situations, in more deadly places. I’ll be fine.”

She seemed to realize there was no getting through to him. “ _Fine, but I’m sending Leon up there_.”

“What? Why him?” Frowning, Chris watched as the cranes finally freed his Jeep. He was right; the paint job was ruined. Other than that, it seemed all right, though only a closer look would be able to tell. _Hardy car._

“ _I would come myself. But... truth be told, I’m sort of afraid of what might happen, should get too close to - him_.”

A cloud of melancholy plopped onto Chris’s already rather foul mood. “Uh, yeah. Right. Kay, I’ll... yeah.” What was he supposed to say to that? The phone fell quiet, until the old friends/awkwardly reacquainted friends gave their strained goodbyes and hung up.

* * *

The Jeep still drove just fine - for the moment, it didn’t seem to have any problems. Well, the car itself didn’t. The CD player was messed up. It still played, he just couldn’t get it to shut off or turn down. Because of that, he had to listen to the same twelve songs over and over. 

Still scowling, Chris drove through the mountains without purpose, knowing he could be so very close to his goal, and yet so far. He had no idea where to go. Maybe Wesker had left the mountains, or maybe returned to his hideaway. He had no way of knowing.

But, just to be sure, he was going to head up to the spot Wesker had usually stayed in during the time Jill had felt his presence. It wasn’t much farther. Despite his pessimistic view, Chris was slightly energized by the proximity. Wesker probably wasn’t there, but it was as close as Chris was going to get - for now.

A while later, and Chris had come to the location. It was a large, grassy field, split by the dirt road. On the left was a cottage. _Funny_ , Chris looked at the little wooden house, with green drapes and flowers around the porch. _This house plus Wesker does not compute._

He pulled to a stop a little ways away from the house, nerves clenching his gut. Sweat was building around his collar, and he felt a bit jittery, like he’d had a few too many cups of coffee. Shutting the Jeep off (and that godforsaken CD player), Chris took his first few steps towards the homey cottage.

The paint of the cottage was a soft sunshine yellow; there was a rocking chair on the porch and a mailbox surrounded by flowers. Green shutters lined every window. There was a sign on the door decorated with wooden birds reading, “Home Tweet Home”. It was... disarming. And cute. And everything Wesker wasn’t.

_Maybe I’ve got the wrong place._

Still, it was the place Jill had pointed out, so he had to check it. Sighing, he mounted the little stairs, eyes falling to the door mat. His eyes widened dramatically, mouth drawn into a thin line. “You gotta be shittin’ me,” 

The door mat was a cute yellow cat, playing with a ball of yarn. _If Wesker ever wiped his feet on this, I’ll fucking kiss it._ Caught between laughing and rolling his eyes, Chris stepped up and rang the door bell.

After a minute, he rang again. When no reply came, Chris resorted to knocking, but still no one came to the door. Somehow he knew he was going to end up breaking into this place. _Time to get to work._

Chris backed up, examining the cottage, looking at the windows. Breaking in wouldn't be too hard. Hands in his pockets, he began circling the house, examining possible entrances. 

It hardly looked hard - it was a Snow White cottage, for Christ's sake - Chris doubted there would be locks or guard dogs or anything. Though, if Wesker really had been staying there, there could easily be some kind of trap waiting. Keeping that in mind, Chris decided to make his entrance.

He targeted a first level window on the back of the house, running his fingers along the seam. A little push and it started coming up. A little more, and he had it all the way, large enough to crawl through. It would be a bit of a squeeze for his broad shoulders, but he could make it. 

The inside of the cottage was dark, not a single lamp or even a candle lit. Chris stumbled as he slid in feet first, pulling his arms under, then his head, balanced precariously and unable to see. There was a small table under the window, which he had sat on, but luckily nothing had been on top of it for him to break.

Once safely inside, he reached out and put a hand on the wall, and another on the little table he was on. He slid off, hoping he hadn't damaged it, before trying to examine his surroundings. It was just too dark, despite how he was squinting. Too bad he hadn't thought to bring a lighter or a flashlight.

Chris moved forward, running his hand along the wall in search of a light switch, but quickly found there were none in the cottage. It seemed there was no electricity in the house. Now that he thought about it, Chris had seen a well outside, too. _Maybe Wesker's a natural kinda guy. Pfft. Yeah right._

Resigned to navigating without sight, Chris kept a hand on the wall, walking slowly and carefully. Eventually he stumbled upon a stairwell, and figured he might as well take it. He followed the stairs up until he finally found some light - a few candles lit in the upstairs hall.

The inside of the house was just as strange as the outside. Blue floral wallpaper covered the walls, accented with paintings of fruit. Chris chuckled quietly, taking hold of a nearby candle.

A sound nearby alerted him, perking his suspicion and curiosity. So Wesker wasn't around - someone else must be. Narrowing his eyes, Chris moved slowly, holding the candle holder like it was a possible weapon, which in a way, it was.

There was a partially open door at the end of the hallway. Chris eyed it like it might bite him, but approached it anyway. Unable to kick old habits, he fell against the wall, glancing around into the room as if expecting an armed enemy to ambush him. Nothing. Breathing quietly, he finally spun about into the room.

Compared to the flourish in the rest of the house, this room was spartan. There was a desk, a bed, and a side table. That was it. Books lined the desk, boring grey bedding covered the bed. It was empty.

Huffing, Chris turned and examined the room more closely. His exploration brought him in front of the desk. Dim candlelight danced over the surface, revealing notebooks, stacks of paper, and... a slim black thing. Chris set the candle down, reaching down to investigate. He brought the item up into the light, eyes widening as he realized its identity.

A case. He snapped it open, revealing the felt interior. It was for holding glasses; perhaps even sunglasses, Chris thought with a smirk. His first big clue, and he was rather proud. Surely if this was here, then this desk was in fact Wesker's: and since it was still covered in what Chris could only assume was research, that must mean Wesker was planning to come back. He would never leave such evidence behind.

"Gotcha," Chris grinned, laughing a little as he set the case back down. Elation had started to fill his insides - a strange emotion to feel when confronted with your worst enemy. But the man couldn't help it. He was that much closer to solving the conundrum of his conscience, and perhaps mending a few fences he had always thought had been destroyed beyond repair. Long shot, yes, but Chris had always thought of himself as an underdog.

Then he heard the car outside.

Panic replaced happiness as he rushed to the window - a black BMW was pulling into the drive. Chris dropped to his knees before he could be seen. Eyes wide, he scanned the room before diving into a closet, snapping the door shut behind him.

Huddled in the darkness, heart racing, Chris cursed his bad luck. Yes, he had wanted to find Wesker, and he wanted to confront him about some things, but he did not mean immediately at that very fucking moment. He had no idea what he was going to say, how he was going to address this whole thing - hell, Wesker would probably kill him on sight, if he didn't come up with a plan. _Fuck fuck fuck!_

He heard the door downstairs open and jumped, before cursing his jittery mood. _I'm gonna get myself killed if I keep this up!_ But there was nothing he could think of doing: other than cowering bravely in Wesker's closet, the land of lots of leather. 

_So many bad jokes could be made out of this._

Footsteps up the stairwell. Heart beating like a drum, Chris remained on his haunches, listening as voices came from the hall. They were headed his way, effectively destroying any chance he had for escape.

"... feeling any better?" This voice had an African accent, which struck Chris as peculiar. But he immediately forgot that when the second person spoke.

"Relatively. I will be fine."

It was rough, ragged, like the owner had been sick with a sore throat for a week - but it was unmistakeable, even when weak. This voice still had the same haughty air and sultry tone as Albert Wesker. It could be no other.

Excitement flushed Chris's face even as he grew even more worried. There was no way in hell a closet was going to hide him from Wesker. He remained very still, hoping to last at least long enough to hear something of interest.

They entered the room - through the thin space between the doors, Chris could see the two forms. One was a tall African man, dressed in a suit with a fedora hat, long dread locks coming out from under it; a scar lined his left cheek.

The other was even taller, donning a black cloak, and leather clothes, with a hood over his face. What skin could be seen was scarred, bandaged, blackened. A strange shock of guilt shook his spine, and Chris found it hard to ignore.

The African helped Wesker to the bed, setting him down gently. "I'll fetch you something. Are you up to solids?"

"Perhaps," Wesker's sigh rattled like metal, as he awkwardly pulled his legs up onto the bed. The other man watched him a moment, as if afraid of something, but once Wesker was settled he seemed to relax.

"How about some beef to celebrate? Or is that too heavy?" The black man grinned, and to Chris's great surprise, Wesker gave a sputter of pained laughter.

"Fish might suit me better." The other acquiesced with a nod of his head, turning to go, but he paused mid turn.

"Sir," He queried, sounding confused. Wesker let out a muffled "hmm" as if he was half asleep. "Did you move that candle there?"

_Oh shit._

The gig was up - both men were now on the alert, bodies stiff, especially the stranger. He grimaced and glanced around, before kneeling and looking under the bed.

“He may have run for it when he heard us arrive,” Wesker offered as the other looked back up. “Examine the rest of the house, and outside. I doubt he has lingered, but if he was this careless -” Wesker gestured to the candle, and the man understood. He nodded and set out, rushing from the room.

Chris, meanwhile, was having a mini heart attack. Two more seconds and surely that man would’ve gone from looking under the bed to checking the second most obvious place, the closet. After all his years of covert operations and fighting zombies, one would think Chris had mastered the art of staying alive. Apparently not, since his best choice of escape from a dangerous situation was to hide in the simplest place possible, close to one of the most powerful people in the world.

Speaking of; Chris glanced to the bed, where Wesker remained. With the hood up he couldn’t tell what the man was doing, where he was looking. Couldn’t he “sense” Chris or something, with his magical zombie-ness? _Very grown up words, Chris._ Why hadn’t he been found and flayed yet?

To save some of what was left of his dignity, Chris decided to stand; he pushed the doors open slowly, and stepped out, eyes stuck on Wesker. His plans so far had all been stupid, why stop now?

Wesker heard the door open, and his head turned just a bit towards the left. The room remained deathly quiet. Chris had a thousand things at once he wanted to say but they were also so crammed into his throat not a one could escape.

A ghostly, raspy chuckle escaped Wesker that woke Chris up. “I had wondered when you might show up.” The voice was so weak and yet so strong, sore and raspy but still commanding all the power the owner had once had. Something about this moment felt sentimental in Chris’s strange brain but he fought the urge to say anything that might embarrass him later. Instead he cleared his throat and stepped forward a bit, towards the other side of the bed. Still he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Up close, Wesker’s body was a mess - strictly speaking, falling into a volcano and being burned alive by lava should have downright obliterated him, and yet here he was, alive, and in physical torment, from the looks of it. The fight had been months ago and he was still recovering. _Though most people wouldn’t be recovering from lava at all_ , Chris thought, but he kept it to himself. He glanced around, saw a stool by the desk, and picked it up, pulling it over by Wesker’s side of the bed. He remained a good foot away - didn’t want to be too trusting.

This moment was surreal. Here he was, sitting by the man who’d been his hero, his ally, a traitor, and a most hated enemy. This man had been everything to Chris time and time again, in the most unhealthy of ways, something Chris only realized recently. Now, Wesker was falling apart - ( _I did this)_ \- weak and suffering, perhaps watching Chris with disdain under his dark hood. The man’s hopes faltering with a sickening thunk in his stomach.

 _Why did I think I could fix anything?_ He had thought forgiving Wesker might be hard - but surely Wesker forgiving Chris was impossible.

“Well?”

Chris’s head snapped up, surprised by the voice. “... yeah?”

A sharp smirk came onto Wesker’s face and he chuckled again, this time breaking into a series of coughs. “Are you not here to finish what you started? What stalls you, Christopher?”

Shivers erupted at the base of Chris’s spine and drove the bones in his back to shaking. Hearing Wesker say his full name like that creating a rising tide of fear, revulsion, and even excitement in Chris. At one time, when they’d worked together at STARS, Chris would’ve given anything to hear Wesker say his name with something like respect. This was as probably as close as he could ever get to that now.

Eyes narrowing, Chris looked down, elbows on his knees. “No, I... I’m not here for that.”

“Oh? Going to turn me in?”

“N-No, okay! I’m not here as a - an enemy or government agent or anything. I’m just Chris.” Scowling, the man turned his head away. What had compelled him to say ‘Just Chris’ like he was a two year old child? Color flushed his cheeks. He gave a soft sigh. “I...”

This was the moment. Here was Wesker, stuck in bed, with no way to leave. Chris could easily force the man to listen to everything he had to say. He could dump it all out, say adieu, and pretend he’d never seen the blond wrapped in rags and bandages. Life would go on. Finally he’d be free of this heavy, guilty weight that he surely didn’t deserve. Heroes weren’t supposed to feel terrible about killing villains were they?

Somehow, his mouth wouldn’t work, and despite how much he’d been burning for this moment, it wasn’t happening. The words wouldn’t come out. It didn’t help that Wesker was sitting there, head turned towards him; eyes hidden, but Chris could still feel the lingering gaze. Sweat broke out on his brow.

“Well Chris?” Despite the switch in power, despite the fact Chris could easily wipe the floor with this wounded Wesker, the other man still sounded like he was in control of everything. _Maybe my thoughts are a secret plot Wesker has to drive me insane._ Chris wouldn’t put it past him. “What are you here for? To gloat? To watch me suffer? You would like to see me pay for my sins, wouldn’t you?”

Suddenly angry as fuck, Chris stood violently, stool flying out from under him. “No, no and no. Shit, you really know how to push my fucking buttons.” The brunet put a hand over his eyes and tried to calm down. “I didn’t come here to fight but you’re making that hard to remember.”

More laughter, though this burst of chuckles wasn’t as sharp as the others. “I would hope, after all these years, I would know what pisses you off by now. I’ve made you angry enough in the past.”

“That’s for damn sure.” The hand dropped, falling limp at his side, as Chris’s eyes returned to Wesker’s hidden face. Something like pity, but stronger, filled Chris’s throat and rendered him speechless again. There was the guilt, pulling him down. _He was going to destroy the world! What was I supposed to do, smack on the hand and send him on his way?_

Chris gave one last sigh, eyes falling closed, before he finally resolved to do what he’d come to do, and be done with it. “When you died, I went out of my mind.” He began. Wesker showed no visible response, so he continued.

“For months I was outta my head with guilt, and confusion and all sorts of shit. Once I’d had my ‘revenge’ the anger faded and all this other stuff came up until I couldn’t function - I couldn’t work, couldn’t hardly think without my thoughts coming back to you. Eventually I realized some things; and once I did, I couldn’t stop brooding on them. It was driving me nuts.” Huffing, Chris began to pace as he ranted, hands clenched tight. “When I found out you were alive somewhere, I knew I had to find you and get this shit off my chest.”

Wesker opened his mouth to speak but Chris stopped him. “Uh huh. You got to have all your creepy monologues when we were fighting, it’s my turn now.”

It actually surprised him when Wesker listened and fell quiet. A little disturbed, he took a deep, steadying breath, and forced himself to continue.

“Okay, where to start? Uh... beginning I guess. Back in STARS. Well first off, ... you were right. I am a self righteous bastard. For years I convinced myself that I was fighting you because of what you did to the team, what you did to all those people, but I was lying. Sure you were a heartless bastard but that wasn’t why I wanted to kill you. I’m not so good a person that I would devote so much time to fighting you because you’re “evil”. I wanted revenge. I was angry that you betrayed us - betrayed me. Horrified even. ... I really looked up to you, and truth be told... you were pretty much all I had back then. You and the team, and you took both from me.”

“And as for all the stuff you did... you are a sick, twisted man. But you were right about some things. Yeah, you heard me. You were right. The world is a terrible, horrible place, and life sucks until you die, but you know what? Erasing it and starting over is not gonna help. I’ve tried to do that with my life plenty of times and I always managed to fuck it up. Maybe if you took over the world it would be more peaceful under Wesker’s “wise” rule. But I can’t believe a society founded about the massacre of a whole planet could be peaceful. Still... I blatantly ignored everything you said because I didn’t want to hear it, though now I wonder if things might’ve been different if I’d tried to understand.”

He was shaking uncontrollably, trembling like a leaf; but Chris refused to stop when he was so close. “Another thing: I am sorry. Yeah we were enemies, but I feel guilty about some of the shit I pulled. Not that you didn’t deserve it, but for some reason my conscience won’t let me forget it. And on that note, I... I am so sorry for this... for Africa, the volcano... I didn’t think... I didn’t dream you’d survive and end up...” That trail of thought died, so Chris moved on to something else.

“Anyway... to sum all this shit up... I’ve been ignoring a lot of things for the past ten years and... a - and I -” The hard part. The part he’d never really mentioned to Leon, though the man had guessed it. The part he had hardly admitted to himself. “The truth is I - um - I was torn up about all this because - there was something - um -”

“Come now Chris; you were becoming so articulate. Don’t lose it now.” Wesker was taking a jab at him, but it didn’t sound pointed and painful like before. It was... soft? Gritting his teeth, Chris lower himself to his knees by Wesker’s bedside and forced his mouth to work.

“I never hated you. Never. I - it was just -” Growling, Chris found words had indeed failed him, so he gave up on them. “Goddammit!” 

Perhaps it was better to show instead of tell.

Before he could back out of it, before Wesker could realize what he was doing, Chris leaned in close to the man’s hooded face, and placed his lip’s over Wesker’s. 

They were a bit charred, chapped and tasting of ash, and nothing like the soft lips they should have been, but for a brief instant Chris knew what heaven was. Then he pulled away, still shaking, sweat pouring down his face.

“That pretty much sums it up,” He whispered, clutching the bed like it was a lifeline. Nothing in Wesker’s appearance had changed, but for the firm line his lips had become. Chris tried to stop his gut from clenching.

And then it hit him all at once - months of depression and lethargy, of hardly getting enough sleep and not eating right, put together with the insane adrenaline rush his day had been, and in that moment it all hit Chris and -

he fell to the floor with a hard _thunk_ , out cold.

* * *

Blurred color yellow - warm air. Something shifting, and birds singing outside. Why were there birds singing? He could never hear wildlife outside his apartment, what with all the cars... and his walls weren’t yellow.

Groaning, Chris sat up slowly, trying to remember where he was and what the hell had run over him, backed up, and run over him again. Then he remembered exactly what it was -

Finding Wesker.

Talking to Wesker.

 _Kissing_ Wesker.

Fainting on top of Wesker.

_Smooth move, dick head._

Groaning in agony, Chris fell back against the pillow, only to groan in pain from his head swimming.

“You might want to be careful about moving - you’re dangerously weak from hunger.” The brunet looked up through lidded eyes to see the African man entering the room. “I’m not sure why you’ve been abstaining from feeding yourself, but I won’t allow it here.” A tray with a bowl of soup on it was placed on Chris’s bedside table. “Eat.”

Slowly, Chris pulled himself up. “I haven’t been abstaining - I just forgot sometimes.” Okay, a lot of the time. But in his defense, Chris had always felt a little sick to his stomach whenever those thoughts had come unbidden into his head. It was easy to lose one’s appetite when they realized they had girly feelings for a worst enemy. _Girly feelings? I sound like I’m twelve._

“What kind is it?”

The man crossed his arms, eyebrow up. “Does it matter? I’m feeding you, a man who broke into my home and assaulted my friend.”

Holding up his hands, Chris shook his head. “I’m really sorry about that, but - wait did you say friend?” Chris stared at the man in shock.

Rolling his eyes, the stranger picked the tray back up and put it in Chris’s lap. “Yes, friend. Though perhaps more than that. I saved his life in Africa, and he saved mine by helping me come here. We are like brothers.” Chris listened to this with his mouth wide open. 

“Really? Friends? Brothers?” Chris spat. “Cause Wesker doesn’t seem like the type to have those.” _Not that I’ve been close enough to know these past few years._ Chris tried to pretend the gnawing feeling in his stomach was hunger instead of green eyed jealousy.

The man frowned darkly, almost protectively; but it quickly transformed into a haughty smirk, the likes of which rivaled Wesker’s. “Ah, but he is the kind to have lovers though?”

The spoonful of soup Chris had put into his mouth flew back out immediately.

“W - What? He has a lover?” The man, red faced, tried to wipe off his chin with his sleeve, before remembering he didn’t have a sleeve. Now he had soup on his face and his arm. The other man tutted, rolling his eyes before going to the bathroom for a towel.

“Well, after that display earlier, I assume that is what you are.” The redness on Chris’s face was so bright he looked like a stop light. Frowning, he snatched the towel from the man when he returned and set about cleaning himself off.

“N - No, definitely not. If you heard the whole conversation then you’d know -”

“Ah, well, I did not hear the whole conversation.” The man explained. “I walked in at the tale end, on what I assume was you - having been starving yourself for so long - attempting to derive nutrients from Albert’s face.”

Chris wasn’t sure what was making his head spin faster - the words the man had just said, or the fact he’d said “Albert”. “No no no no no. That was - oh forget it.” Still glaringly red, Chris returned to eating the soup and trying to ignore the man. “I don’t even understand what it was, how am I supposed to explain it to you?”

Chuckling, the other man watched Chris eat a moment, before extending his hand. “My name is Gregory.”

“Is, uh, Wesker all right? I mean... how’s he healing?” The brunet pondered. Gregory became concerned again, arms crossed.

“Slowly, but not fully. He has not made progress in some time. He mentioned to me there was something specific he needed, that he did not have access to anymore. I fear he may not make anymore progress.”

Something he...? Chris’s memory flashed to the syringes, the virus. Was that what Wesker meant? 

* * *

Chris still didn’t feel like he could sleep. The man put his half eaten soup on the bed table. He still felt antsy, jittery, like he needed to move. His stomach was twisted into knots; his legs were tingly, like blood was moving back into them. The worst sort of migraine was tormenting his head, and though he wanted to sleep, he felt like it would probably be hard.

The man sighed and slowly scooted back down into the bed, wondering why he felt all right with lying lazily in the same house as Albert Wesker. He had told the man everything he had needed to - and still felt just as tired and confused as before. Nothing had changed. Cursing under his breath, Chris turned on his side and tried to sleep. 

Thirty minutes later, the man sprang up in bed, angry and frustrated, before moving to his feet. It took a minute for him to walk steadily - _I must be weaker than I thought_ \- but he eventually escaped his room, which he found was on the first floor. For a brief moment he glanced up to where Wesker must be, but quickly looked away. He needed a break, an escape from the man’s presence, to think things through.

Out the door he went, hurrying towards his Jeep. Once he got in, he turned it on, revved it up, and got the hell out of there.

* * *

This time he took the drive slow, and it took him an hour to get home. He trudged up the stairs, unlocked his door, and collapsed on the couch as soon as he could.

Chris let out a long, heavy sigh, hands over his eyes. His whole body felt heavy, weighed down - in fact he felt worse than he had before.

_What the hell is this?_

He had thought talking about it would make it better. Instead, he felt worse. The world was spinning and he couldn’t get his heart to calm down.

“Dammit all to hell,” The man cursed. This was the last thing he needed.

What could it be? What was it that still drove his mind bonkers and made his body suffer? Frowning, Chris thought about everything that had happened that day. Was it guilt, after seeing what his actions had done to the man? Or perhaps it was because he hadn’t been awake to see Wesker’s reaction to all he’d revealed. That might be it - he may have finally said what he needed to, but he had no idea what Wesker felt about it.

_Why do I care how Wesker feels!?_

Grimacing, Chris stood and stomped his feet, trying to come up with a solution. There was only one he could think of. It was risky, it was stupid, and it could cost him his job. It was probably the most idiotic thing he’d thought of so far. Well, other than the obvious.

“If I don’t destroy my life by the end of this, I’ll be very surprised.” The man muttered darkly, before sitting back down. He needed a nap before he did anything. 

When he woke up, he’d get started.

* * *

The phone was what woke Chris up the next morning. He almost answered it - and then decided against it. It was only Leon, but he didn’t feel like talking to the younger man, not yet. As soon as he answered the phone it would be easy for Leon to tell he was hiding something. 

Groaning, Chris stood and glanced around - the world spun.

 _Okay,_ the man thought, _note to self: eat. Now._ Gregory was right; he had been eating too little, and he needed to fix that. 

After a breakfast of eggs and toast, Chris headed out the door, to fulfill his self destructive mission. Then it was off to Wesker’s for another fun filled day of destroying whatever pride he had left.

* * *

Chris arrived at the cozy cottage a few hours later, a brief case in hand. Somehow he had managed espionage, thievery, and what might amount to an attack on national security if you looked at it a certain way. What the hell am I doing?

He had no idea, but he was doing it. Stepping up to the door, Chris knocked, this time waiting to be let in.

The man was met with an angry man blocking his way.

“There’s our runaway,” Gregory spat darkly, arms crossed. Chris gave a sheepish smile and held the briefcase up. 

“I come bearing gifts.” He offered. The dark look on Gregory’s face hardly faded. “What? It’s not like your my babysitter or something, we just met yesterday.”

“Yes, but you are my friend’s lover, and as such -”

“Would you please stop saying that?” Chris’s face was red again as he tried to keep from punching the man. “Just let me in all right? I brought something that might help Wesker.”

At that, the man finally stepped aside, beckoning him in with a wave of his hand. Chris nodded his thanks before making a bee line for the stairs. Gregory followed. 

Wesker was asleep - or Chris assumed he was - when the man entered the room. He felt like the man might say something at any time, some kind of scathing remark, but none came. _He must be asleep_.

Coming around to Wesker’s side of the bed, Chris set the heavy briefcase on the bedside table very quietly. His nerves were rising - he hoped this would work, but he wasn’t sure. He carefully unsnapped the lid, and opened it.

Inside were three syringes, the very same that Wesker and his people had used to become tentacled freaks in Africa. Chris hoped it would be able to help Wesker heal. Picking one up delicately, he moved to Wesker, turned the man’s arm up.

“Are you sure about this?” He could hear the trepidation in Gregory’s voice. Chris looked up and nodded.

“This is the stuff he used before, to stay strong. I think it’ll rejuvenate him - and if it doesn’t, I’m at least sure it won’t hurt him.” Pretty sure. He was actually a bit nervous himself, which showed just how twisted he was, caring about Wesker’s safety. Chris gave one last grimace, before lining up the syringe with the vein, and pushing the plunger.

Wesker let out a loud hiss and snapped up, throwing Chris back. The man hit the wall with a sickening thud, thrown with a great deal of strength - hopeful, he looked up.

The arm he’d injected was bulking up, the blackened skin turning a brighter, paler color, though not quite normal yet. He could see the “medicine” running through Wesker’s veins, up under the cloak, and from under the hood he saw the menacing smirk that Wesker so perfected. 

The blond stood, staring in wonder as both his arms healed, and his legs held him upright without assistance, and gave a thick laugh. Shivers raced from Chris’s feet to his head, and he wondered, not for the first time, if this was the right thing to do. Or the smartest thing to do. Hell, what was he doing?

Then all thoughts died when Wesker reached up and removed the hood.

His face was still a bit peeled, like he’d had a bad sunburn, but he almost looked like normal. The sunglasses weren’t there - they were on the bedside table - so Chris was not protected from the intense red glare that settled on him, tightening his stomach. Even with the scars lining his neck and face, the man was as impassively beautiful as ever. Smirking, Wesker reached up and removed a bandage off his left cheek, revealing healed skin beneath.

Then he glanced to Gregory. “I would like to have a word with Chris.” It was all he needed to say - Gregory nodded and left the room, but not before winking at Chris like a conspirator. The brunet’s face flushed again and he gritted his teeth - but then he heard Wesker move and his heart stopped.

“I must thank you, Christopher. This is the best I’ve felt in a long while.” The man stepped closer, and closer, and Chris felt all his muscles go limp. _What is this? What the hell kind of feeling is this?_ He didn’t have time to think about it when Wesker knelt in front of him, crimson eyes demanding his attention.

The two remained quiet for a good while, staring indefinitely at one another. Chris felt his heart thudding against his rib cage, and tried to glare in order to hide what he was really feeling. Who had told him he’d been hiding love with hate? Well, he was doing it again.

Wesker saw the glare and gave a soft laugh. “Come now Chris. You can hardly feign hatred after that display yesterday.” Chris stiffened, the glare hardening. “You can no longer lie to yourself, or to me.”

“Fuck off,” He whispered, but it didn’t have the strength behind it that it used to.

Wesker gave a haughty laugh. “Christopher... surely we’re beyond this? You and I are not enemies - not now. I hardly have the strength to fight you, and you no longer have the will.” Chris almost disputed that, but stopped because they both knew it was true. “So where does that leave us?”

Chris pressed his hands against the wall, as if it might help him. Glowering, he came up with an answer. “You think I know? I thought telling you all that shit yesterday would finally make me feel like normal again, but nooo! It’s fucking worse than before now!”

Wesker raised an eyebrow, leaning back on his heels. “How so?”

“Whaddya mean how so?”

“I mean, how so?” Wesker was smirking as if Chris was amusing to him, and it pissed the brunet off more. “What are the symptoms of this so called ‘funk’ you are in?”

Frowning, Chris crossed his arms, pulling himself up so he’d be a bit more eye level with the man. “Why do you want to know?”

“Call it curiosity,”

The other rolled his eyes. “I managed to sleep yesterday, and I ate this morning. But I still feel all - all - like I’m nervous! All my muscles shake and get jittery, my head spins constantly, and I’m out of breath half the time, like I’ve been racing a marathon. Sometimes it feels like I’m burning up and my cheeks get flushed but I don’t have a fever. Headaches are constant. And whenever I’m around you I get - I -”

“Yes?” Somehow Wesker’s smirk was edging into a grin - which was strange. Wesker didn’t grin. “Grin” meant happy, and Wesker was never happy, oh no. Wesker had three emotional states: plotting, scheming, and gloating. Each of them required a smirk, not a grin.

“See? It’s happening right now! I’m sweat and my heart’s racing and I feel like I’m gonna conk out!” Huffing, the man pulled on his shirt. “It’s so hot in here, what the hell is the temp on?”

Okay, Wesker was out right grinning now, and it was scaring the hell outta Chris. “Tell me, Christopher, these symptoms - I suppose they occur most when you are dwelling on those thoughts you explained to me yesterday?”

The man shrugged. “Well, yeah.” Wasn’t it obvious?

Wesker laughed. He didn’t chuckle deeply, he laughed like Chris was the funniest thing in the world. The man’s cheeks flushed.

“What? What the hell is it?”

Now the smirk was back, which would’ve comforted Chris, but he was still on edge. “Let’s see - out of breath, heart racing, nervous, and dizzy. And you feel this way when you think about me.” Chris’s eyes widened. _Do not go there, don’t go where I think you’re going -_ “It sounds to me like you have a crush, Christopher.”

Snarling, Chris rushed to his feet - and almost fell over he was so dizzy. “Why the hell does everyone think I’m in love with you!?”

Wesker followed him. “Perhaps because you are. My, Chris, I’m flattered.” Somehow it was possible for Chris to turn redder, which made Wesker laugh harder. Enraged, Chris leaned in and poked Wesker’s chest, eyes narrowed.

“Get this straight, okay? I’m straight. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. Yeah, I felt guilty and bad about what happened to you -”

“You kissed me.”

“I - I - I - shut up Wesker! I” poke. “Don’t” poke. “have.” poke. “a.” the hardest poke. “Crush on you!”

Suddenly Wesker walked forward until their chests were together, Chris’s hand trapped between them.

“Is that so? Then prove it.”

The brunet became a deer in headlights. “Prove...?”

The frightening grin was back. “If you don’t have feelings for me, then this shouldn’t bother you at all.” Wesker walked them back until Chris was pressed against the wall, trapped between it and the blond’s fit form. “Am I wrong?” He raised an eyebrow, and Chris felt his throat tighten.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuc-_

“What are you playing at?” Chris whispered, already breathing hard and fast. “What are you doing?”

“I’m only trying to help, Christo -”

“Don’t even try! You always have a motive. What are you trying to prove?”

The grin vanished, and Wesker’s look became very serious. The dead pan glare from his red eyes sent shivers down Chris’s spine, shivers Wesker surely felt. The taller man leaned down against Chris’s face, whispering into his ear.

“Because, Chris,” the man’s breath tickled his throat, and Chris let out a strangled cry. He clenched his hands until his fingernails dug into the skin. Wesker smirked against his ear lobe and he could feel it. “Chris,” he whispered again, and this time the man couldn’t keep his groan quiet.

“I,” the breath brushed his neck and Chris shuddered. “love,” The brunet’s eyes widened dramatically - “humiliating you.”

And then Wesker was standing two feet away from him, smirking in triumph at the puddle of lust and emotion Chris had become, leaning on the wall. The brunet stared wide eyed for two seconds - then his gaze narrowed.

“You - you bastard!”

What followed involved both men and the bed behind them, but had nothing to do with the mood that had permeated the room a moment before. It had much more to do with violence, cursing, and broken noses than anything else. By the time Gregory separated the two brawling enemies, the were both bruised and bloodied, head to toe.

But, despite the glares they were throwing at each other, something in the air felt different. There was a lingering sentiment of kinship - Chris had parted a few vital truths to an old enemy/friend - and then had gone out of his way to help him. Wesker had taken these truths, and though perhaps used them to his advantage (as was his way) he did not throw them in Chris’s face; and other than a bit of manly bonding, had not hurt Chris physically or emotionally.

They were sort-of-just-barely getting along, and it was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to Chris his whole life.

* * *

_The next day, Chris Redfield’s apartment_

Jill looked very angry when Chris opened the door. As soon as he saw who it was he went to shut it again, but the powerful woman had a vice grip on the door knob. 

“Christopher Redfield,” The woman began, and for the first time, Chris actually felt like he might have something to fear from this encounter. “I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are.”

“Good morning to you, too,” He griped, but he barely got it out before Jill pulled the door open so hard he flew out into the hallway. When he tried to stand back up, he found a foot planted on his upper back.

“Tell me you didn’t do it.” She spat, grinding his chest into the floor. “Tell me you’re innocent and I’ll believe you. Come on, four little words.” Grimacing, Chris tried to turn his head and look at her but couldn’t. His reply came out as muffled gurgles into the carpet. “Come again?” She let up a little and Chris spat out carpet fibers.

“I said, I didn’t do it.” He was suddenly slammed back down into the floor, and more pained gurgles commenced.

“Come on Chris!” She let him up and he gasped for air, coming to his knees.

“You said you’d believe me if I said it!” He replied, though looking at her face, her crossed arms, the tapping foot, he found the jury had already come to a verdict.

“You are a horrible liar. Get in here!” Grabbing his shirt, she hauled him up and threw him into his apartment, before slamming the door shut behind him. “Okay, I understand needing to come to terms with an enemy. Stealing very dangerous government property for him is another matter entirely!”

“It wasn’t for him - I mean, it was for him, but - he didn’t know I was doing it!” Chris found himself floundering for a reply that wouldn’t get him arrested and/or murdered by his best friend. “Look, you don’t understand. He was badly wounded and he couldn’t heal his injuries. It was the only hope he had -”

“You do realize you just armed perhaps the most dangerous man in the world, don’t you? You do remember who this is right!?” Jill was screaming now, red faced, and suddenly what little humor had been in the conversation was drained out. Chris felt guilt crawl back up his spine. _I have become way too used to this feeling recently._

“You remember what he’s done? To you? To me? What he wanted to do to the whole damn planet?” Jill gestured around them. “I know that you used to worship this guy, and you probably still kiss the ground he walks on, but don’t you dare forget who he is.” Glaring, Jill turned and stormed to the door. “The minute you do you’ve screwed us all over.”

Then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Chris drove to Wesker’s cottage with a permanent frown settled on his face. His CD player still refused to play anything other than the one CD that he couldn’t get to eject no matter what he tried. At the moment, though, the frustrated thoughts in his head were drowning out the noise of the music.

Jill was right - he had been incredibly stupid. Not only risking his career and his future, but the future of the world by providing Wesker with three - count that, _three_ \- vials of the virus. He only used one, leaving the plotting blond with more than enough to begin another outbreak. 

_It would be so easy for him - he could inject it into Gregory at any time, then send him off to spread it, and we’d have ourselves another zombie attack in hours._

He was an idiot. He’d been so relieved to realize he hadn’t murdered his - his - ( _ex-boss? hero? old friend? worst enemy? potential lov -_ ) Scowling, Chris cursed under his breath and parked in front of the cottage.

Storming towards the door, Chris found himself slowing to a halt a few feet away. For a minute, his mask faded. Sorrow tinged his eyes, his shoulders dropped, and he felt the weight of his life on his back. Everything was fucked up and there was no possible way it could turn out all right. Frowning, Chris replaced the mask and moved towards the door. Knowing that everything was screwed already made it easier for Chris to do stupid things like check to see if Wesker was healing okay. This could never end well for them, but for now he could pretend he was just another person checking on their sick friend instead of - well, Chris Redfield checking in on Albert Wesker.

In his gloomy mood, he didn’t notice someone watching his entrance from a second story window.

Gregory was in the kitchen when Chris walked in. The black man looked up and nodded.

“He’s doing much better.” The man knew already what Chris would ask. “I gave him another dose, and he’s been up and about all morning.” Two doses gone - Chris couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning Gregory for needle marks. He seemed to notice the stare, looking up pointedly. Chris sheepishly glanced away.

“Uh, um, that’s - that’s good.” His voice sounded weak, even to himself. Clearing his throat, he pointed to the stairwell. “I’ll, uh, just go, um -” He hurried up to the second floor before his mouth could embarrass him further.

Wesker was at his desk when Chris entered, looking over files and papers and things - the briefcase was beside him, closed tight. Chris felt his stomach clench when he looked up and realized Wesker’s trademark sunglasses were back in place.

* * *

Life is such a cold hearted bitch.

Chris Redfield was driving up a mountain road in his worn down Jeep, as had become his daily rountine that past week. Every morning he would wake, lie in bed pretending the light outside his window was anything but the sun, before finally dragging himself out of bed when he could deny it no more. Then, after hours of moping and arguing with himself, he would get in his car and head to the mountains to visit the biggest asshole on the planet.

_Life's a bitch, and I'm a masochist._

The virus Chris had nicked for Wesker had helped him improve vastly - which to Chris was a mixed blessing. He wanted Wesker to get better; he had felt guilty about all the pain the man was in. But, Wesker growing strong was also a threat to all of mankind one that Chris would have to deal with, if the need arose.

Stress was making his head pound; irritation rising, Chris parked in front of the familiar cottage. Today, Wesker was sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch with a glass of water, looking completely out of place in all black, next to flowers and cutesy garden decorations.

"Good morning, Christopher," Wesker spoke as he approached with the same detached air as always. Pausing on the stairs, Chris leveled a glare at him. The two remained quiet for a pause. "Is there something on my face?"

Flushing, Chris glanced off. "no, uh, it's just - weird seeing you in such a domestic environment." He mounted the rest of the stairs. "it lacks your usual madness and mayhem."

At that the blond chuckled. "I have been many things, Chris, but I was never mad,"

The other rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "I know a ton of people who would disagree."

Their banter was interrupted by Gregory's appearance on the porch. "Ah, the lover boy is back!" Chris choked, blushing scarlet, as Wesker raised an eyebrow. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Commence heavy sighing. "Yes, mother."

Gregory ignored the disgust, ruffling Chris's hair as if he were a child. Then he turned to Wesker. "Ready for today's dose, Albert?"

It was strange hearing anyone call Wesker by his first nam.e Something bubbled in Chri'ss gut that he pointedly ignored.

"No, Gregory. That does is our last, and it will be needed to produce more."

That thought snapped Chris back to reality. "Come again?" The man spat, stepping in front of Gregory. "Make more?"

The sneer on Wesker's face reminded Chris of old times. "Yes, Christopher, more. Three doses is hardly enough for me to regain my full strength."

"Full strength?" Doubt, fear, and suspicion coiled like snakes around Chris's heart. "Don't tell me..."

The blond stood, red eyes rolling behind his glasses. "I see where this is going. And I have no need of it. You may leave, Chris." Then he sauntered into the house, a red faced brunet hot on his heels. Neither heard the whistle behind them.

"Lover's spat," Greogry huffed, deciding to remain safely on the porch.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!" Chris grabbed Wesker's shoulder, wheeling him around, but his hand was immediately thrown off.

"Do not test me, Chris." Wesker spat. "Tell me, what did you think I would do when you brought the virus to me? Did you think I would be taken by gratitude and prostrate myself before you?" Mouth pulled into a tight grimace, Wesker took a step towards him. "If you'll remember, I was once your captain. You never had authority over me; don't pretend to now." Chris violently shoved the man away.

"I'm not just gonna stand here and let you start mass producing that shit -"

"And who, pray tell, mentioned mass production?" Wesker actually sounded angry, his usual composure lessening by a fraction. "I need the virus to recuperate - to survive. Was that not your intent? Or have you now realized your mistake and have come to repair it?"

Eyes wide, Chris shook his head fiercely as it might clear the fog over his thoughts. "N - No - uh look - I don't want to fight anymore. But ten years of it kinda makes it hard for me to trust you!" At 'trust' Wesker's eyes narrowed, and Chris's throat tightened like he going to be sick.

"I do not need or desire your trust, foolish boy. And I do not answer to your authority. I acknowledge that you have helped me." Wesker was turning away, a deep frown on his usually empty appearance. "Now you are no longer required."

Chris watched Wesker vanish around the staircase, black cloak flying behind him, feeling as if the floor had been ripped out from under his feet. Cold, damp sorrow sunk into his bones. What... what just happened?

Things had been going all right. They hadn't tried to kill each other, unless scathing glares counted. Very much at a loss, Chris trudged to the couch and slumped onto it.

He did not hear the front door open and close - but he did hear Gregory's dulcet tones.

"I do not know very much about the two of you; I know much less about your relationship," Chris didn't bother correcting the man. "But it seems to me, if you are trying to move beyond a past struggle, you must let it go."

When he turned to face Gregory, the look on Chris's face was akin to a puppy who'd been scolded by its master. "I'm trying! But how can I not be a little suspicious after all the shit he's pulled through the years!"

The other leaned on the back of the couch, glancing at him. "Sure, but that's part of letting go. If you forgive someone for their past mistakes, and yet still treat them the same, then moving on is impossible."

Groaning, Chris let his head plop against the back of the couch. He thought it was cushioned - it was not. The heavy thunk hurt like a bitch, as Chris hissed and grabbed his head.

"God!" The man put his head on his knees. Breathe in, breathe out. The throbbing in his head helped distract him, but it faded too fast. Chris remained curled up, sighing darkly. 

"... what the hell am I doing?" The solemn question escaped his lips like a quiet breeze, almost silent. Chris didn't elaborate. He remained as he was, gripping his hair and hanging his head down, trying to make sense of his mess of a life.

After a few painful minutes of that, something horrid occurred to Chris.

"I have to apologize to him, don't I?"

Gregory only laughed.

* * *

It took ten minutes for Chris to finally drag himself up to Wesker’s bedroom. The door was closed when he got there; he stood apprehensively before it, fidgeting with his feet. After a bit of hesitation, he knocked.

No noise or movement came from within; he knocked again and still nothing happened. Chris huffed at the door. _He’s probably in there moping_. In reality, he was probably ignoring Chris to punish him, but he liked the Wesker-moping image better.

So, clearing his throat, Chris leaned towards the door. “Uh... Wesker?” He started slowly. “You in there?” No reply; he didn’t really expect one. “Look, I uh - I wanna apologize.” Sighing, he leaned against the door, arms crossed. “I shouldn’t have been so accusing downstairs. I mean, sure, there’s plenty of good reasons for me to be nervous about you and biological weapons - but I could’ve approached it better.” He let his head fall back against the door. “it was stupid, and I’m sorry.” The lack of response was also expected, even though Chris waited for it. When it didn’t come, his head fell, eyes drooping.

Then the door opened.

Chris had been placing all his weight on the door; as such, when the door opened into Wesker’s room, Chris tumbled down, eyes wide and arms flailing. The only reason he didn’t slam into the floor was because something caught him.

Confused, Chris blinked and tried to turn and see what he was on - all he saw was black. Whatever it was it was warm and - moving?

“What few traces of finesse you once had seem to have been completely eradicated.” Murmured Wesker’s voice from right above Chris’s head. The brunet frowned confusedly.

_Wait a -_

Chris jumped onto his feet in a millisecond, spinning around to face Wesker; the blond was smirking at his display of embarrassment - Chris could feel the heat on his cheeks - but the steel in the blond’s eyes was still there.

“Uh - S - Sorry about that,” He muttered before grimacing and giving a curse. “Why am I always apologizing around you?”

The other crossed his arms, eyebrow cocked. “Perhaps because you cannot go a moment without making a fool of yourself.”

Almost as if to prove his point, Chris tried to return with a witty remark, only to find he had none. “Shut up,”

That only made Wesker laugh - Chris’s head snapped up. The blond’s mouth was parted a bit, showing teeth, but it was not quite a smile. Still, it was a kind of delight that was strange to see on Wesker. Chris found himself grinning broadly, light returning to his eyes.

“Wow,” He said, causing Wesker to glance at him. The angle they were at made it so Wesker was looking at him over the sunglasses, revealing his powerful eyes. “I’ve never really heard you laugh. I mean, when its not an evil laugh or a sultry chuckle or something. Not even back in STARS."

Wesker raised his head, hiding his eyes again. “‘Sultry chuckle’?”

Chris’s blush rose, and he glanced off with a frown. “That’s the one thing you get out of that...” His pout prompted more chuckles from the other, which changed his own expression to a smile soon enough.

"I meant it when I said I was sorry.” The brunet repented quietly. It was harder to say to his face, especially when Wesker stared at him, expressionless, and Chris wasn’t sure if he was about to be smote or laughed at.

Then, finally the British accent filled the air. “I never imagined that you would do what has transpired these past few days.” His lips twitched - Chris found his eyes drawn to them. Briefly he felt his own lips burn in remembrance of their all too short meeting with Wesker’s. “To think that Chris Redfield would be helping me; apologizing to me; admitting he was wrong.” The taller man raised an eyebrow, and Chris flushed at the realizing of what had been left unsaid: kissing me. “You continue to surprise me. It seems I’ve underestimated you once again. And perhaps I also owe some... apologies."

The look on Chris's face said the obvious: no shit, Sherlock. 

"Not only to the world, but to you in particular. I am - different. Changed. I doubt you or anyone else would believe it, but the heat of that volcano, it - burned something out of me. I have yet to determine what, but I will discover what it was that was done to me, why it - changed me, and I will make those responsible pay."

His voice took a dark tone that had Chris shivering, which made him flush in anger. _Right, obviously just anger_. "Yeah okay, I mean, I believe you. You were kinda -" Kinda what? How was he supposed to put into words how much Wesker had changed? It had all been a lie, an act, at least, that's what he'd always thought. How he'd explained the sudden change from his captain to his mortal enemy. But there was something else at play; had someone else been manipulating things? It certainly wouldn't be the first time. But it was also so convenient, such an easy way to wipe the slate clean. He wanted it so badly to be true.

"Yeah, well thanks." Chris cleared his throat. "And if there was something going on, I'm here, you know. To help."

"Articulate as ever."

"Shut up!" Chris retorted, but his breath left him as a hand, not gloved for once, but bare and cold, rose to touch his face.

"Thank you, Chris." Wesker - his captain - said. The expression on his face was for once not a smirk, but a smile. Red eyes stared at him freely. The barriers between them were gone, and a gulf of ten years felt like it had shrunk down to nothing. 

Chris gulped - but he didn't fight it, and he didn't run away. Not even when Wesker leaned in and took his lips once again.


End file.
